


the wicked shall have their just rewards

by orphan_account



Series: in absentia luci, tenebrae vincunt [1]
Category: Political RPF, Political RPF - US 21st c., Real Person Fiction
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, Hate Sex, M/M, Melancholy, they're gonna get fired, you get what you deserve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-07
Updated: 2017-04-07
Packaged: 2018-10-16 03:04:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10562406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: They were enemies, once, and now all they have left is each other. And isn’t that a sad thing?





	

“A question of ‘when’ not ‘whether’.”

That’s what the source says. When, not whether.

Before, Reince never thought he’d find out he was possibly getting fired through the media before his own boss told him. But considering who his boss is, he really shouldn’t be surprised. And he isn’t.

He sets his phone aside and holds his head in his hands. There is no way to come back from this, if he’s fired. No fucking way. There’s no legacy to be left behind, no great accomplishment that’ll be remembered for years to come – fuck, McConnell got his grand gesture in years after Reince thought he was going to finally kick it.

All Reince is going to be now is the guy with the weird name who was once head of the RNC and had the shortest tenure as Chief of Staff to the President. He’ll be reduced to a footnote, a trivia question. He won’t have anything to his name.

“Fuck,” he says, steadily, into his hands. He tosses his jacket aside and rolls up his sleeves, pulling aside the curtains and opening the window. The sea breeze quickly fills his lungs and pulls the Washington from his lungs, and Reince wants to scream.

“How did it end up like this?” he sighs. “How the fuck did it end up like this?”

There’s a knock on the door. If it’s anyone with the last name Trump, Reince will definitely scream but when he opens the door, he’s faced with a different sight – a familiar one.

Steve Bannon, hair mussed, suit still on with a bottle of something alcoholic in his hands. “Mind if I come in?”

“As long as you’re planning to share.” Reince steps aside and Steve marches in. He plops on the bed and kicks off his shoes. “You haven’t changed out of that suit, I see.”

“Fuck’s the point – I’ll have to get back into it in the morning.” He twists off the cap and drinks straight from the bottle, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Reince takes the bottle from him and does the same. He sits down beside him and undoes his tie. “Maybe you won’t, though. Maybe in the morning we’ll both be fired and then we’ll never have to wear suits again.”

“Thanks to fucking ‘Cuckner’,” Steve huffs. “Him and all the other damned Democrats are gonna get us dragged into Syria and then we’ll be well and truly fucked.”

“You didn’t even feel a smidgen of sympathy for those dead children?”

“Everyone dies everywhere,” Steve says with a shrug. He takes the bottle back from him and knocks it back with a satisfying exhale.

Reince stares at him for a couple of second and then he can’t help it. It starts out as a bemused chuckle and then he’s throwing his head back in a loud laugh.

Steve raises a brow. “Fuck are you laughing about?”

“I can’t believe that you’re my closest friend in this entire administration and I hate you so much.” He wipes his eyes and shakes his head. “I defend you at every turn but god, I fucking hate you.”

“The enemy of my enemy is my friend.” Steve pauses a moment, then hands the bottle back over. “I’m sorry about the whole thing with Katie.”

“It’s not your fault,” Reince says. He takes a slow sip. “I’m sorry about the whole National Security Council shit.”

“Not your fault either.”

They sit, side by side, two people who sold their souls for this administration – for this country, even – and now they have to pay the price. If he had a bit of conscience left, he would’ve fully acknowledged that the country was headed into ruin and that millions upon millions would pay the price for the failures of the Republican party. But he doesn’t have any of that left.

He looks over at Steve and wonders what he’s thinking. It’s always hard to tell with that man – he’s as shallow as he is deep and Reince can never tell if he’s moving in a moment of calculation or a moment of rage.

They were enemies, once, and now all they have left is each other. And isn’t that a sad thing?

“This is probably our last night in Mar-A-Lago,” Reince says, after a moment.

“Probably,” Steve agrees. He’s looking over at the open window, at the flapping drapes and the moonlight seeping in and the distant sound of crashing waves. “Florida’s a nice place to relax.”

“It is.”

Steve finished the bottle and sets it aside, on the bedside table, before shutting off the lamps. The only light comes from outside and it drowns them in shadow. He turns over to Reince, half his face lit up, and it looks so strange. “Do you want to help me relax?”

It looks so strange, Reince thinks, and he says, “Okay.” His eyes drift shut as Steve leans over and his hands rest firmly in his lap as Steve cups his face and kisses him.

He’s not a bad kisser – which certainly explains the three wives, and it doesn’t take long for Reince to start kissing back, to press himself closer and start unbuttoning his shirt. Steve pushes his hands aside and rips it off instead, buttons scattering on the floor as he moves to start unbuckling Reince’s belt.

“I thought you hated gays,” Reince says. His pants are at his ankles and Steve is right above him, pinning him down.

“There’s a difference between sucking cock and shoving your cock up someone’s ass,” Steve says plainly. He tugs on Reince’s boxers and Reince lifts his hips to help him pull them off.

“And what about the man who’s going to have a man’s cock up his ass?”

Steve pulls off his trousers and throws them across the room. They hit the wall with a dull thud and fall to the floor, as he starts ripping open the condom wrapper. “I don’t care about you,” he says, and then, in contradiction, he kisses him again. It’s rougher but sweeter, and Reince doesn’t know what to think.

He’s flipped over and he grits his teeth when Steve spits on his hand and presses a finger, then another, up his ass. Reince grips the sheets as tight as he can and forces himself not to moan, not when there are so many people here who could hear them.

Steve doesn’t seem to care. He moves his fingers around, sliding them in and out, teasing his prostate. “Go on,” he says. “I want to hear you. You’re already getting fired, what’s there to lose?”

Reince doesn’t say anything. He grips the sheets even tighter. He’s not going to give him the satisfaction, not if he can help it.

There’s a brief moment of reprieve and Reince takes a deep breath, then Steve shoves his cock into him and he nearly blacks out. At least it’s lubricated properly, he thinks, but then all he can focus on is Steve, pulling back then pushing in, back then in, rinse and repeat. There’s no style to it, no romanticism, and while his dick rock-hard, Reince can’t help but feel a little annoyed.

“You’re fucking terrible at this,” he says, voice breathless. “No wonder your wives all left you.”

Steve doesn’t respond, but his grip on Reince’s waist tighten, fingers digging into his skin.

Reince tries not to chuckle. “Imagine what they’d think, everyone on the alt-right, if they knew that you were shoving your dick up my ass. They wouldn’t care that you’re not gay – they’d discredit you so fast, you’d land on your own ass.”

“Shut up,” Steve grumbles, voice dark and deep. “Shut the fuck up.” He goes faster, pressing in further, and the slight pain is offset by how fucking good it’s starting to feel.

“Make me,” Reince trails off into a moan as Steve starts hitting his prostate. His dick is leaking now, right onto the sheets, and he starts rubbing at it furiously.

“I’ll fucking make you,” Steve says. His words are interjected with deep thrusts and his breath comes out in heavy pants. “Fuck you, just – fuck you. You fucking establishment asshole. You’re fucking this whole country.”

“Yeah, that’s it,” Reince says. “Yeah, right there, like that. God, I hate you. I hate you so much.”

“Fuck you, Reince, just – fuck…” His hips slam and Steve comes with a low groan. Reince can feel his nails pierce his skin and he comes right then.

Steve takes a couple of moments to pull out and he lies down on his back, as Reince collapses down on his stomach. He turns over and looks around the dark room. Their clothes are scattered across the room, his phone is silently blinking on the nightstand, and he can hear the distinct buzz of Steve’s phone from somewhere on the floor.

They don’t say anything for a moment, and then Steve clears his throat. “Do you mind if I…”

“You can stay,” Reince says. “Of course you can.”

“Good.”

They lie there, side by side, legs brushing and hands almost touching. By next week, they’ll likely be gone. They’ll never have to see each other again, and it does something to Reince’s heart when he thinks about it.

He turns his head to find Steve looking back, and he doesn’t close his eyes when they kiss this time. It’s the only comfort they have left.

Outside, the waves are still crashing.

**Author's Note:**

> Sources (not footnote'd): The quote at the beginning is [here](https://www.axios.com/exclusive-trump-eyes-new-chief-of-staff-house-leader-on-short-list-2349015716.html) and the fact that Reince and Bannon are now getting along is [here](https://www.nytimes.com/2017/04/06/us/politics/stephen-bannon-white-house.html?_r=0).
> 
> Recommendation - if you read this, get yourself checked for STD's since you might have what Bannon has. Also, please practice safe sex.


End file.
